by Renea Mason
We stood for a moment staring at each other. Both feeling the helplessness of reliving the past, he held me close.
“Stanton, who is the woman in the paintings?” I asked and pointed toward the hallway.
“I don’t know. I assumed the Goddess.”
Taking Overton’s hand, I pulled him toward the door. We made our way to the end to stand in front of the painting that showed the three freckles on the woman’s hip.
“When did he paint these?”
“Shortly after his rescue from Myghal. It was part of his rehabilitation.”
I stepped away from Overton, hooked my thumb in the waist of my black yoga pants, and revealed the same pattern of freckles on my hip.
Overton said nothing, but with one finger reached out and softly drew an invisible line between each dot.
“If this is the Goddess, why do we have the same markings, and if it’s not the Goddess, is it me? The last time he had seen me I was an infant.”
“I don’t know, but you and Cyril have always been connected somehow.” He placed his entire hand on the bared flesh of my hip, and I turned in his arms.
The tears formed waves in my vision as I stared into his eyes.
“Where is he?”
“He’s at the cabin.”
We both knew what had to happen.
“Thank you,” I said, looking up to study his eyes for a moment more. I drifted toward his lips. His smooth mouth met mine halfway, and the kiss was a soft and tender thank-you, with a touch of good-bye.
As our lips parted, a thousand soundless words were exchanged. Our love of the same man formed our connection. It was not lust, but something much deeper. I began to see Overton as an extension of Cyril.
He interrupted my thoughts. “Do you need directions?”
“No.”
“You’re doing the right thing. Please know that’s one of the reasons I love you.”
The smile I gave him was sincere, but carried the weight of the world in it. He returned it in equal measure.
“Take care of Clarence, please.”
“Certainly.”
He gave a final tense smile, and I kissed him quickly once more, and then returned to my room.
Locking the door behind me, I slumped against it and let out a deep sigh.
This was it. No going back.
Chapter Sixteen
Rapture
The gravel strained under my tires as I made the turn into the cabin’s long and winding driveway. There were no other vehicles, but the cabin lights were on. I grabbed the book from the seat and made my way to the door. The windswept over the rushing water and bathed my ears in nature’s beautiful static as plush snowflakes blanketed the ground one by one. Small crystals collected in my hair and on my eyelashes as I knocked. No one answered. I turned the handle, found it unlocked, and then invited myself in.
As unchanged as the outside had been I had expected the same inside, but the rustic-modern blend of the decor was cluttered with papers, paintings, and an array of strange baubles, making the place feel like a workshop. It was not electricity that illuminated the structure, but rather dozens of candles and a warm, glowing fire.
The first ensemble featured paintings…of me. If only I were so beautiful. Was this how he saw me? Unlike the paintings in the hallway, these depicted my face. They all contained the same azure hue as the other collection. I thought about how much time he must have spent painting the twenty or more pieces, and how many times he must have seen me in his mind.
Oh, Cyril.
Tables featuring bottles of strange liquids, bunches of herbs and flowers, various leather pouches, and stacks of handwritten notes adorned every surface. A peculiar stack of paper, hand-bound in a leather covering, caught my eye. I placed the journal on the table and picked up the strange sisal-bound book.
With the random page open before me, it was not his elegant script that caught my eye, but rather the words.
There is no way to explain to her what I’ve done, how deeply I have bound us. The connection is so strong, I want to climb inside and live within her. If only she would allow me to touch her, to hold her, to make love to her willingly. With no coercion, no distress, no pretense. She’ll never know how deep my need goes, beyond the physical, beyond the soul. I don’t want to possess her, but rather combine myself with her so we are two halves of one whole. She is the end to my beginning and the beginning of my end. My balance. My completion. My salvation. My Light.
I dropped the book as I struggled with guilt and revelation. I knew how stubborn, selfish, and overbearing he could be, but I also knew his kindness and how he’d already suffered a thousand deaths for me. What if I was meant to be his balance? Was I the only thing keeping him from loving and being loved?
I closed the cover and placed it back where I found it. I never intended to violate his privacy, so I did not read any more. The snow started to transform to heavy flakes. With all of the windows surrounding me, it felt as though I was standing in the storm, all the while secured in a blanket of warmth the fire provided.
I moved to the window and stood fixated on the beautiful bits of white as they disappeared, only to be carried away by the stream below. The massive expanse of the water swallowed up the tiny particles as they formed one entity. The water did not change; it was only the ice that melted. The ice gave in, to become something greater, to be something more powerful and magnificent.
Only a few questions remained. Could I bear to watch him die again? Could I face my fear and heartfelt pain to give him what he wanted? Was I strong enough?
Staring out the window, looking upstream, I reached for the buttons on my blouse.
* * *
It wasn’t long until I glimpsed him on the horizon. Cyril’s beautiful, hulking form crested the riverbank as he headed toward the cabin. I did not move. I stood bare for him beyond the glass. Still yards away, he came to a halt. The vegetation in his hand fell to the ground. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but his slow stride was not it. He sauntered to the window in his jeans and black leather jacket, a stoic expression on his face. He stared, taking me in, but didn’t move for the longest time. Snow collected in his hair and on his jacket, highlighting him in white. He was winter—powerful, demanding, and brutal, but at his core lay something more fragile than the innumerable crystalline flakes that adorned the ground.
He turned and walked around the side of the house.
From behind me, I heard the handle turn, the door open, close, a rustling of cloth…
His body slammed into me. Stumbling forward, I braced myself against the window with outstretched hands. The hard lines of his body molded to mine, all but fusing our flesh. The glass was frigid, and he was an inferno. The electrical current that always existed between us surged through me as his scent engulfed me.
After pinning me, he said only one thing, in a breathy whisper. “I’m too selfish to ask why.”
His naked body melted against my back as his hands reached around and squeezed my breasts in a bruising grip. Gasps, sharp inhalations, and groans escaped each time he rubbed his body against mine. Grazing the surface of my shoulder, my neck, and my face, his lips left a wet trail in their wake. I knew it would not be the gentle lovemaking he spoke of wanting. He’d take me hard and fast to satiate our need. The moment had run through my mind a thousand times. I always thought it a fantasy, but now knew it was a premonition. My body reacted to what it knew was about to happen.
His length rubbed against my ass as he grabbed my hands and held them together above my head in one fist. The position forced my nipples to rest against the frosty pane and pucker to painful peaks. With his other hand he urged my back to arch by smoothing down my spine, exposing what he so desperately wanted.
His knee nudged apart my legs and in one unapologetic movement, he buried himself to the hilt in my welcoming wetness.
“Ahhhh…Cyril,” I hissed out as so many sensations came together all at one time.
He moaned b
ut didn’t move, leaving the first impression of our connection to linger.
So full.
So much.
So…fucking…good.
I processed the delicious pain that resulted from having something so large buried so far inside me, and reveled in the pleasure the electricity gave me from the inside out.
He pulled out and slammed back in. The window reflected the erotic arch of his body over mine as he started the lovers’ dance.
Each invasion brought me closer to the edge without going over. His free hand squeezed my breast as his hardness moved in and out of my body. The snow that lined his hair dripped onto the heated skin of my back in cold, slushy pools.
The crescendo of his strokes had me lost. He possessed me, claimed me, fucked me, and loved me. I felt his teeth graze the skin of my neck, but he did not bite. His fingers laced through my hair, made a fist, and pulled my head back as he made sharp, syncopated thrusts. He placed his lips to my ear and breathed, “Is this what you wanted? I saw it in your mind. You wanted me to take you, didn’t you?”
Thrust.
“To fuck you?”
Thrust.
“To possess you?”
Thrust.
“To take what’s mine?”
Thrust.
Nothing passed my lips but the small grunts each time my body yielded to his.
“Answer me!”
Almost too overwhelmed to respond, I managed a moan and a breathy, “Yes.”
He growled and pulled my hair harder to expose my throat. He placed his lips against my neck. “You want me to fuck you hard, to make you feel alive, to show you I’m real. How does it feel? Is my cock inside you real enough?” He wiggled his hips so I felt the same effect inside me. I moaned louder.
“You like that? Just wait until I come inside you, you’ll beg me to fuck you all night.”
His words excited me, each penetration reassuring me it was our destiny.
The first rush coursed through my head as my climax started to crest. His frenzied rhythm brought me closer even when I tried to hold back the feeling, to savor it.
“Because you know I can, Linden…”
Thrust.
“I can fuck you all night.”
Thrust.
“And I plan on doing just that.”
Another hard thrust as he pulled back on my hair, tugged hard on my nipple, and licked my neck.
That was it. I cried out, “Oh, Cyril…I’m coming.”
“For me?”
“Yes, for you.”
Wave after wave of heat and pleasure coursed through me. My body gripped him tighter in desperate need to draw him in.
“Fuck.” The word left his lips on a moan. The next moment he roared. “Oh, Linden!”
Several deep, punishing thrusts and his seed filled me as he gripped me with a desire so strong, only pain could convey it accurately. He pounded into me several more times before his rhythm slowed to a caress.
When his tremors subsided he didn’t withdraw. Instead, with us still connected he lifted me, pressing my back against his chest, and carried me to the bed. The ease at which he maneuvered me showcased his strength. He leaned me forward on my hands and knees. After positioning me, he gripped my hips. Still hard, he started moving again, thrusting harder with each withdrawal. He fucked me relentlessly. The feeling inside was indescribable. More sensitive with each penetration, bringing a peak within itself. It was like nothing I’d ever felt. The position allowed him to dive deeper than before. The thick evidence of his pleasure ran down my legs with each thrust. The idea that he wanted me so desperately and there was part of him inside my body sent me over the edge.
“God, Cyril. So good…I…again…” My muscles clamped around him.
He grabbed my hips and forced me back onto his cock as he filled me again and again. He paused and growled with each hot stream of his release until he buried himself as deep inside me as possible and remained still while he let out one last sustained groan.
He leaned forward and kissed my back, still remaining within me. He finally spoke between pants. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” I said as I fought to catch my breath.
“I should have asked you first.”
“I thought I provided a pretty substantial invitation. I’m worried though, Cyril.”
“About what, Light?” He stroked my back with soft, reassuring fingers.
“What if this kills you? I don’t think I can watch that again.”
“It won’t. You are mine. The spell doesn’t work with me.”
To my surprise, without him moving, without any other stimulus, I started to feel the building from deep within again.
I closed my eyes and rocked back against him. He was still part of me, hard and ready. I couldn’t help myself. He welcomed me and countered my actions without complaint.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Embarrassment filled my words.
“Our bond is intense and, coupled with the effect of my seed, we’ll be at this awhile.” He moved in slow languid motions that allowed me to appreciate the size of him, our snug fit.
“Huh?”
“I was created to please a Goddess. She gave me a few…enhancements. I just hope I’m good enough to please you.”
“Oh, I’m pleased, all right. It seems like I can’t get enough. The moment you stop I need more.”
Deep thrust.
“Ahhhh,” I groaned.
“My seed amplifies your sensations. I’m afraid I might ruin you for any other man.” He leaned forward and I felt his breath against my ear. “In fact, it’s my goal.”
Thrust.
He nuzzled my throat. “I don’t have the limitations of a mortal man, so I’ll be able to tame the beast I’ve created in you.”
I couldn’t get enough. “God, Cyril, I’m surprised your other women aren’t lined up at the door.”
Deep thrust.
“Ahhhhh…” I threw back my head giving him better access to my throat.
“I don’t have other women, Linden, but those in the past who graciously fulfilled my needs were never honored with such a gift. It’s for you and only you.”
He increased his speed. I panted.
His balls slapped heavy against my clit and I gasped with each impact. “Ah Linden, you have no idea how good you feel wrapped around me. Like nothing I’ve ever known.”
A few more thrusts and I was lost. My hands clenched the coverlet on the bed as I trembled from completion.
“I love to feel you tighten around me when you come. To feel your body demand what only I can give.”
Hearing him say those words almost made succumb again, but an instant later he was emptying himself in my depths, making me so full, so alive, so wanted.
He combed his fingers through my hair and caressed my hip as we both delighted in the aftershocks.
Once we recovered, he withdrew, leaving the bed, but not before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss upon my lips. He returned moments later with a pewter basin filled with warm water, a soft white towel, and a washcloth.
He reached for my hand and urged me toward the edge of the bed. He kissed me with gentleness, a contrast to our coupling. Situating me in front of him, he dipped the cloth into the water and nudged my thighs, motioning for me to open them. I complied.
I watched as he cleaned the evidence of our joining. The cloth tickled as he brushed it gently up the inside of one thigh and then the other. He placed the cloth in the bowl and fixed his gaze on the glistening curls between my legs.
He moved his hands to the inside of my thighs and ran the back of his fingertips up until he met my core. He inspected me, running his fingers through the coarse, moist hairs. With one digit, he delved between my folds and looked up into my eyes.
“This is mine. Only mine. Mine to take. Mine to command. Mine to fill. Mine to fuck.”
With his declaration, he pushed two fingers inside me, curving them to rub aga
inst the inside wall with perfect precision. He rocked them in and out as he brought his thumb up to press against my sensitive nub. Keeping his hand in place and his pace steady, he leaned up to kiss me. He held me close with his free hand as the other continued to play my body. I thought about watching his hands glide across the piano and so many times I pictured them touching me.
“Linden, you’re like silk. I want to feel you come. I want to taste you on my hand.”
His passionate kiss, his words, and his touch were all I needed. I stiffened from pleasure as another orgasm gripped my body.
“That’s it. So beautiful.”
He kissed me through the tremors and gently rubbed my back.
Trailing kisses from my lips, to my ear and down my neck, he pulled away and reached up to brush the sweat-soaked tendrils of hair out of my face. He fixated on my expression, bringing his dew-soaked fingers to his lips and licking them clean.
After savoring my taste, he returned his focus to the basin. Several wordless minutes passed as he bathed me with loving devotion.
I broke the silence. “Have you ever been loved, Cyril? Has anyone made you the center of their world? Thought of you before all others including themselves? Filled each day with comfort of knowing someone cares enough to do anything for you?”
“Does Stanton count?”
“No, he doesn’t count.” I smiled in appreciation of the close friendship he had with Overton.
“No, never.” His eyes glistened with anticipation.
“As of this moment, your last statement is a lie. Let me love you, Cyril. Let me give us both what we’ve never known.”
He cupped my face. “Show me.”
I moved to kneel on the bed, and then put both of my hands on either side of his face and placed my lips on his.
Slow, deliberate. An exploration. His arms snaked around me and caressed me softly. I kissed my way along his jaw to the soft crevice behind his ear. Lingering there, I thought of his confession, how he never made love. I thought of the nights of torture he endured to ensure my safety. I thought about the paintings and who I was through his eyes, about his words in the journal, and his treatment by the Goddess. It couldn’t be easy to find love, given who and what he was. How long had he been denied? I refused to be the one to deny him.
